It's the Most Awful- no, Wonderful!- Time of the Year
by Stuckinmycocoon
Summary: Forced to spend Christmas with her father and Sheila's family, the evening seems to take a turn from bad to worse. Can a certain ginger manage to lift her spirits and convince her that Christmas really is the most wonderful time of the year? (TW: SH)
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I know it's after Christmas, but this has been in my head and now I finally have the chance to write it out. It's probably only be about three or four chapters, just a little Christmas tale about the two extremes one girl's Christmas. Bechloe endgame. Enjoy! Read and review, please! (It will encourage me to post faster...)

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"Rebecca! Come down here!" Beca's father called but she didn't notice. She did however notice when her headphones are yanked off her ears.

"Hey!" she yelled, protesting at whoever is disturbing her concentration. She turned to face her father. "I was in the middle of something."

"You're always in the middle of some P Diddy thing, Rebecca," he said, disapprovingly. "I've been calling you for nearly ten minutes. It's time to go to the Christmas party, and you're making us late."

"I don't see why I have to go. I'd really rather just stay here and get some work down."

"It's family, Rebecca," he said, exasperated. "Christmas is a time for family."

"It's not my family," she protested, yet again.

"You are my daughter, I am married to Sheila, therefore Sheila's family is your family. Stop this childish pretending."

"I still don't see why I couldn't have just gone to Oregon and spent it with Mom..."

"Your mother has had you for the last eight Christmases. It's my turn now. She agreed."

"It should be my choice. It's not like it's an issue of child custody anymore. I'm nineteen, an adult."

"Then get your act together and start acting like it, Rebecca. Downstairs, five minutes, wear something reasonable. No plaid, no jeans, nothing torn, cover your ears or take out those spikes, and absolutely no headphones. If I don't like what you're wearing when you come down, Sheila will choose something for you and you will have no choice in the matter." He left without waiting for an answer.

Sighing, Beca closed her laptop and turned to face her closet. "Hard to act like an adult when you refuse to treat me like one, Dad. And it's Beca. How is that so hard to remember? It's one syllable less even. It's not like I want to be called...Wilhemina, or something like that..." She finally pulled out a pair of black slacks and a dark green scoop neck sweater, figuring that they couldn't find something to complain about even if the shade of her sweater wasn't quite the right Christmas shade. She added her favorite pair of black boots, a black jacket, and a dark grey scarf. _No plaid, no jeans, nothing torn, leave my hair down to cover my ears, tuck earbuds in pocket. Requirements, check._

"REBECCA!" _And just in time too_. She grabbed her purse and walked leisurely down the stairs, knowing that it would piss them off.

And indeed it did. "I thought I told you to hurry," her dad grumbled. "At least you put on something decent for once, even if you look more like you're going to a funeral than a Christmas party."

She pulled her jacket open, revealing the sweater. "I'm wearing green. That's a Christmas color."

"True," he grumbled. "But ditch the bracelets; they're tacky."

"Daaaaadddd..."

"Now, Rebecca."

"Fine," she said, stripping them from her wrists and depositing them on a side table. "Happy?"

"Are we done fussing over the girl? Can we get going now?" Sheila asked impatiently. "We're late. I hate being late." Beca got the distinct impression that her step-monster would prefer her to stay at home as well. As much as sharing an opinion with the step-monster irked her, she wondered if maybe they shouldn't team up against her father on this one. But it was too late, as she was already being ushered into the back seat of her father's car.

Sheila's aunt lived in Barden as well, but across the town from the university; it was her Christmas Eve party that they were attending. The party was, apparently, a family tradition, complete with a big dinner and going together to Midnight Mass, an activity Beca definitely wasn't a fan of. She was not Catholic, her mother was not Catholic, her father was not Catholic when she remembered living with him, but Sheila was and now suddenly her father was going to Mass every Sunday. And, apparently, in the middle of the night on special holidays. And now, Beca was, too, and being forced to participate in a religion, especially one she was not a part of and knew nothing of, was not exactly her cup of tea.

She pondered over the changes in her father as they drove across Barden, while staring out the window at the lighted houses. She hated him prancing into her life last year, forcing her to go to Barden (for free) so she could have the "college experience" rather than helping her pursue her dream. Then there was the times he would just show up unannounced at her dorm, acting like he belonged there. And then there was the whole incident with the police, when he did come and bail her out but then got all angry, refusing to even hear her side of the story. But eventually, toward the end of the year, they did start to have a semi-congenial relationship again, and he helped her realize that she should go back to the Bellas, which turned out to be the best decision she ever made. And the fact that she stayed at Barden for the next year certainly made him happy, which was a side effect though not her original intent. But then he blew hot again when she declared a major in Music and a minor in Business, yelling at it not being a responsible choice that would lead to a good job and career. Well, it's not like Philosophy would've been a good choice either, she thought. And following this, there were other incidents where he'd cycle between negative and positive, and it all just made her head spin to the point that she just couldn't anticipate how he'd react to anything. Take tonight, for example. Seemed a little over the top, didn't it?

Sheila's aunt lived in a big house, a really big house that spoke "old money". And there must've been a dozen cars in the driveway and on the street. Great, a bunch of people she didn't know. Dragging her feet and trying to go unnoticed, she entered the house behind her father and step-monster. A blur of faces and introductions, comments and conversations later, she finally found herself in an empty hallway, breathing a little heavily. Crowds of people weren't her strong suit at the best of times, except maybe when she was in her element, and the comments about the "little alt stepdaughter" bothered her. Even Aubrey had finally stopped calling her that. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, signaling a text.

Chloe: Happy Christmas Eve! :)

Beca: Somebody likes the holidays. ;)

Chloe: It's the most wonderful time of the year. :)

Beca: So says you.

Chloe: What? Are you being Grinchy, stuck in your room mixing? :(

Beca: No, though I'd rather be.

Chloe: Where are you?

Beca: Got dragged to Sheila's aunt's Xmas party, full of people I don't know who I think have been talking to Aubrey.

Chloe: What?

Beca: They call me the "little alt stepdaughter".

Chloe: Hahahaha. No worries though, Aubrey's home with her family in South Carolina, and I'm fairly certain her family has no connections with Sheila's, or else we would have figured that out by now.

Beca: What about you? Why are you texting me Xmas eve, not hanging with your family?

Chloe: My family all came up to my grandmother's for Xmas, she lives in Atlanta. The house is overflowing with people; I just needed some air.

Beca: Chloe Beale, not at the center of things on Xmas? I'm shocked!

Chloe: Hey, I'll get back there in a minute! ;) But it's literally so crowded, I'm sleeping at my apartment tonight.

Beca: Don't drink and drive! Make good choices!

Chloe: That's what you said to me at the initiation party. Remember what I said?

Beca: That we'd be fast friends.

Chloe: I was right, wasn't I?

Beca barely had a chance to read Chloe's message before her phone was abruptly removed from her hands. "Hey!" she yelled, protesting the intrusion. Just like earlier that evening, she looked up to see her father.

"Stop being antisocial, Rebecca. You're making Sheila and me look bad. Since you obviously can't be mature enough to keep off your phone during a family gathering, I'll hold onto it for the rest of the night." He shut it off completely and slipped it into the pocket of his blazer. "Now, come on, Rebecca."

"It's Beca," she muttered. Sometimes he actually got it right; why couldn't he seem to remember tonight?

He marched her out to the living room and seated her on a empty chair, settling himself in a neighboring chair. When one of Sheila's relatives offered her wine, he said she was underage and poured her sparkling apple cider instead. She didn't even like sparkling apple cider, so she just held the glass to give her hands something to do as the conversation swirled around her, about people and places she knew nothing about and cared nothing for, as she let her mind wander, building musical castles in the air.

"Rebecca?" Her father's voice brought her out of her mental mixing. She noticed that conversation in this group of people had ceased, though she still heard snippets of it coming from other rooms.

"Sorry, what?"

"Stop daydreaming. George asked you about Barden, and how it was going." He gestured to a man sitting a few chairs away.

"It's going well. I'm in my second year, taking music and business classes. I also intern at the radio station and I'm the captain of an acapella group on campus." She kept it short and simple, hoping that would satisfy him.

"Music and business? Are you majoring in Business? I have an MBA in Economics from Princeton. Have you taken any economics yet?"

"I'm majoring in Music, actually, and minoring in Business. I want to produce albums in L.A., work with the big names of the biz."

"Oh. That seems impractical." He deflated a little, eying her skeptically, before turning to her father. "John, what are your thoughts? Are you supporting this dream, by funding her college education?"

"I have been telling Rebecca for many years that her dreams are impractical, and yet she still does not listen to me. At least I'm not wasting my money on her tuition; it's free due to my position on the faculty."

"Well, that's something I guess." He turned back to Beca. "Little girl, I hope you realize what your father is trying to tell you before you end up homeless, on the streets."

"It's that, or try to marry money," a woman broke in. "But dear, you're really going to have to do something about that look of your's if that's your goal."

"Then I guess I'm just fortunate it isn't."

"Do you intend to find a man at all?"

"I've had relationships."

"She recently broke up with her boyfriend," Sheila interjected, now joining the conversation. "He was a nice man, too. I just don't see why you had to ruin that, Rebecca."

Beca started to say something, but the first woman beat her too it, "Kids these days. Why, in my day..." At this point, she zoned out again, picking up her mental mixing right where she left off. Sentences that started out that way – "in my day" – never ended well.

Pretty soon, they all sat down to eat (and pray) at the huge dining table. Beca was near one end, between her father and a man she didn't know, but who ended up not saying a word through the entire meal, which was fine by her. Her father didn't speak much to her, either, except to tell her to pass this dish or that dish. Beca ate lightly, these not being foods that she particularly enjoyed. They were far too rich, and the main dish was fish. Beca had not eaten fish in years, a fact of which her father knew, and yet he dumped a big hunk of it on her plate anyway and scolded her quietly when she refused to touch it.

And the end of the meal, he volunteered her to help Sheila's cousin clear the dishes. Sheila's cousin turned out to be the daughter of the woman who had talked about marrying money, and it was clear from her attitude and clothes that she had taken her mother's advice. Catherine was about ten years older than Beca, and they were the youngest two people there.

"Are there no children in this family?" Beca asked, commenting on the fact that they seemed to be the youngest two people there.

"They are otherwise occupied at a Christmas party of their own, geared towards their more tender years," she answered primly, with a look at Beca that suggested she wasn't sure Beca herself qualified for the adult party. "Now rinse these," she ordered. "In hot water."

Sighing, Beca turned on the faucet and accepted the plate, running it under the hot water to get what food crumbs Catherine didn't scrape into the trash can off, before putting it in the dishwasher.

"No, you're doing it wrong. Don't you know anything? You have to scrub the food off, or else it will stick and not clean well. My eldest is nine and she knows more about washing dishes than you. And you're getting your sleeves sopping wet," she complained, reaching over to tug them up herself before Beca could move to stop her.

"Wait..." Beca plead, too late to prevent what the sleeves had hidden- the thin lines of red, tan, and white from being revealed on her forearms.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: So, this chapter is pretty dark, but it gets better after this, I promise! Don't hate me, and review please! (I like reviews. They tell me if I'm doing something good or not.) Next chapter should be up tomorrow, btw. Oh, and it might be more like five or six chapters

Trigger warning: self harm. Much more so in this chapter than in the last, and a little descriptive, so be warned.

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"WHAT'S THIS?" Catherine screeched, her voice so loud Beca winced. Suddenly, there was silence in the next room, where the adults were enjoying their post-dinner minibar. She grabbed Beca by the wrist and dragged her into the room.

"JOHN! SHEILA!" she said, almost throwing Beca towards them. "LOOK AT HER ARMS!" She released Beca's wrist, only to have it taken up again in a vice grip by John Mitchell, who now has a clear view of the thin scars running up and down her lower arm, and clearly continuing up under her sleeve as well. He yanked the sleeve further up, seeing signs of scars both new and old.

"Rebecca Joan Mitchell," he intoned, "what have you done?" She stayed silent; did he really expect her to answer that? Here?

"Rebecca, answer your father," Sheila prompted.

"Do we really have to do this here?" Beca finally said, trying to wiggle her hand free. He only tightened his grip.

He looked around at the expectant faces of Sheila's family. "Yes."

"It's nothing. Really."

"I can't believe you, Rebecca Joan Mitchell. What on earth is this about? Are you just trying to get attention or something? What could possibly prompt this behavior? It's unacceptable, that's what it is. Now sit." He forced her into a chair, letting go of her wrist in the process. Beca pulled her sleeves back down and rubbed her wrist, feeling the circulation seeping back into her fingers.

"After all I've done for you, all the chances you've had, this is how you repay. Despite my best efforts, you're turning into your mother, Rebecca, and that is unacceptable. Do you know how much money I spent on her little therapies while we were married, so she could whine about her childhood and her imagined problems, and then have some quack tell her the only way to get better is to keep paying him my money? I finally had enough and found some more worthy of me. And to think, they gave her custody and not me."

"Don't say that about my mother! And you hardly even fought for me! You told the judge you didn't care!" Beca was incensed enough by now to just let loose and screw the consequences.

"And you blame me for that? Look at you. Who would want you? Do you really think that all your problems will just go away if you wreck your skin? Your mother thought that once, too. I doubt you remember, you were barely three at the time. We told the doctors it was just a slip of the paring knife as she was preparing dinner. That's when I knew she was crazy, and I still stayed. What problems do you have anyway? You're not homeless, you're not hungry, you're getting a good education and keeping free of debt. Maybe I should have just taken you from her, she's obviously been a poor parent."

"I said, stop talking about my mother!" Beca stood up, and before anyone could stop her, ran out the door and into the night. The hours of cardio from Bella practices served her well as she sprinted away, not knowing where she was going, just overpowered by this incredible urge to get away. Finally, she slowed to a stop, breathing heavily, tears streaming down her face, as she took in her surroundings. She was near a park, a big one. It was empty, closed actually, since it was night, but she couldn't find it in herself to care about that as she entered it.

There was a gazebo toward the center of the park, and she sank down there, on the floor, letting the tears rush down her face, as her mind overloaded with thoughts and images. She was upset with Catherine, with Sheila, with her father, for putting her through that display back there, more so with her father for his comments about her mother. But mostly, she was upset with herself.

Failure. Useless. Unlovable. Fuck up. The words attacked her psyche. Can't do anything right. Feelings of guilt and shame welled up inside her. Shame for cutting; he was right, no one would love her. In the months she and Jesse had been together, she had never let him see her fully naked. After relapsing in her cutting after that disaster at Regionals, she had been body shy. At first, it was all on her thighs, less hard to keep hidden. But then, once the weather turned colder, and the long sleeves came out, it became less important to keep it off her arms, and that, it seems, was where she screwed up this time. Sure, there were some old white scars there, but she was so pale, they were hardly noticeable under the best light. And the worst of them were hidden under her tattoos, anyway.

And guilt, guilt for her mother. Her mother who never knew, never could know; the school counselor had helped her, and actually agreed to keep it from her mother. She knew they were going through a rough time; as her father had just alluded to, Beca's mother had never been a terribly strong woman, and Beca had largely been propelled into the position of caretaker when her father left. It wasn't all bad; sometimes months or even a year would pass by with no problems, when her mother held down a job, did the grocery shopping, paid the bills. But other times, she would slip into a dark depression and it would be left to Beca to cash the welfare checks and use them to put food on the table and keep a roof over their heads. And now Beca was here, in Georgia, leaving her mother to fend for herself in Oregon, living off social security disability checks, where she would probably be spending the holiday entirely alone. And that, more than anything else, wore on her. And contrary to what her father believed, she did remember the incident he was referring to. She had been five, not three, and she remembered the blood on the floor and her mother being away for a few days. She remembered the fighting and how she had to start all-day kindergarten halfway through the year. And it had been her greatest fear ever since to come home and find blood on the floor again or now, in this case, to get a phone call from the person who found blood on the floor. But without her father's support, she could never have financed college, and going to college was the first thing her parents had agreed on in years. She had wanted to move both herself and her mother to L.A., where she could get into the biz, make some money, and support them. But no one ever listened to what Beca wanted.

And her father wondered why she cut. This wasn't the half of it. Speaking of cutting, in her hasty departure, she had left behind both purse and phone. The phone may have been useful, but it was a certain shiny silver object in her purse that she wanted right now. She wanted to release some of this dreadful emotion inside her, before it came up to suffocate her. And really, there was only one way she knew how to. She pulled her sleeves up, examining the evidence of previous sessions, and noticed a purpling bruise being to form on her wrist. She could see each individual finger of the hand that made that bruise, but she felt as though she was looking at it remotely, like the wrist wasn't attached to her body. Oh fuck, not this again, she swears softly to herself. The school counselor called it depersonalization. Said it was one of the reasons she thought Beca had turned to cutting to begin with, as a way to feel in her body again. She suggested ice cubes, or rubber bands. But Beca had neither of those with her now. She shifted her body, and, feeling something cold brush across her leg, decided to investigate. It was a safety pin, holding a small rip in the side of her trousers together. She hadn't even noticed when she had put them on earlier, and neither had her father since she passed his inspection. Quickly, she undid the pin, and studied it carefully, with eyes and fingers, as if she had never seen such a thing before. And indeed, she was seeing it in a new light, seeing it as something sharp and shiny.

Beca had a routine for this, a ritual you could say, and this certainly wasn't it. But the temptation, the need, the siren song of scarlet was summoning her, and she felt powerless to resist its lure. She pushed her sleeve up further, and brought the sharp tip of the safety pin to the area near her elbow. She pressed down, gently, and dragged the tip along her skin for about an inch, then examined it in the faint streetlight that came in through the slotted sides of the gazebo. She could barely see it; it certainly wasn't bleeding. She tried again, pressing down harder the second time, as a short rush of breath left her lips. It took more pressure than the small blades she took out of disposable razors, but the effect was the same, as a huge amount of tension rushed out of her small body with the release of a few drops of blood. She dragged the pin along her arm a third time, in the same groove as the previous, until she saw a dark line of blood along the entirety of the wound, even in the dim streetlight. She chose a new patch of skin again and did the same, again and again, until seven fresh cuts were on her arms. Then she stopped. She always stopped after seven, and never went too deep. She had never needed medical attention, never cut so much as to pass out, never gotten an infection using rusty blades. The care she took with it had been one of the main reasons her counselor had agreed not to notify her mother. She cut safely, which helped keep her secret hidden.

Even if her father had given her a chance to answer his accusations, she really didn't know what she would have said. Nobody who hadn't tried it would believe it worked, but somehow, it did. She just felt better afterward, she couldn't really explain it. The best explanation she could come up with had to do with a first aid class she had taken once in school. Her teacher had explained that the body had powerful mechanisms to deal with pain, natural painkillers, so that even someone with a broken leg could get up and get help for themselves. It was a survival mechanism, that really only worked for a short time depending on the circumstances. When you reached safety, that's when it usually really started hurting for people. As a paramedic, he'd seen people after a car accident chatting away, seemingly only lightly injured, only to have them die hours later from massive internal injuries. Beca had absorbed this, and then tried to apply to it to the question of why self harm worked. She came up with the idea that pain was pain, be it mental or physical, but that the body could only produce these natural painkillers after physical pain. Self harm was like changing mental pain into physical pain, so as to get the benefits of these natural painkillers. She later found out that these natural painkiller were, at least in part, endorphins, and that endorphins are mood elevators, which further seemed to confirm the explanation she came up with. Even later, perusing the internet, she released she wasn't the first to come with the idea either.

But whatever the mechanism, it calmed her mind enough for her to stop crying altogether, and to enter back into the here-and-now. She was alone, at night, in an unfamiliar area, with no phone and no money. That was not a recipe for success. It was Christmas eve, which argued that most people would be indoors and most things would be closed. She did not remember how she got here from Sheila's aunt's house, not that she wanted to go back. But she did need to do something; she couldn't stay in the gazebo forever. She pulled down her sleeves, feeling the fibers of the sweater rasp against the fresh cuts but it was not a sensation that bothered her. Rather, it centered her, kept her in the here-and-now.

Beca got up, deciding first to solve the problem of where she was before figuring out what she was going to do now (the much harder problem). After much wandering through the park, and detours to read nearby street signs, she realizes that she's not so lost after all after passing a (closed) outdoor ice rink. Fact is, she remembered coming here with Chloe a couple of weeks ago. The memory rose, fondly, as she stared at the rink. Chloe had come knocking at her door one evening, begging Beca to come skating with her. Beca, who had grown up in Oregon, had much more exposure to ice rinks than Chloe, who had grown up in Florida. Chloe explained that she had been on ice skates on those indoor skating rinks, but she wanted to try skating under the stars. She had turned those big blue Disney eyes on Beca, who caved and agreed to join her. The night had been so much fun and laughter, first the skating and then warming up with hot chocolate afterward. It had been the first time she had real fun after breaking up with Jesse almost a month prior to that. Memories of Jesse and their breakup rose with that thought, but she pushed them relentlessly back down, not wanting to deal with him and his complaints of her "frigidity" right now.

Being that she now knew where she was, she also knew how to get back to campus. It would be a long walk, but it was possible. She could actually stay on the bike path most of the way, keeping herself off the road on the off chance somebody might be out looking for her. She still didn't know what she was planning to do once she got back. The last thing she wanted to do right now was see her father, but she did want to get her laptop and mixing equipment from his house. Also, her dorm was closed over the holiday, so she couldn't crash there. She wanted to fly out and surprise her mother for Christmas, but she didn't have the money for the last minute plane ticket, nor would her mother if she asked. Last year, even though she'd been at Barden, her dad had given in to her pleading and bought her a plane ticket to Oregon for Christmas, under the caveat that she'd spend the next Christmas with him. Look how well that turned out, Dad, she thought sarcastically to herself.

As she walked back, it started to pour. It was like the skies just opened up and released a flood of water, soaking her instantly. She was maybe, by her estimate, about three-quarters of the way back, and the clock she had passed earlier had said it was after midnight. But there was nothing to do but plod on at this point, now wet as well as miserable and confused.

She must have zoned out for a while, for when she came to, she found herself in the vicinity of Chloe and Aubrey's off-campus apartment, and stopped for a minute to think. Of everybody she knew, Chloe was the one she most wanted to be around right now. Chloe was the one who could make everything better, with her gentle smiles, soft touches, and comforting words. Chloe was also home. In that moment, she wished she wasn't, she wished Chloe was down in Florida with her family as per usual on Christmas, because as much as Beca wanted to see Chloe right now, she also really didn't. It was fear, fear of rejection, fear of bothering her friend, fear of vulnerability. Because if she ended up at Chloe's doorstep, Chloe would no doubt get the story out of her, and of all people, Chloe was the one she least wanted to lose from her life. Look at the reactions she just got about her cutting. She didn't think she could make it if Chloe hated her too.

She paused near the apartment building, seeing a soft light and hearing a gentle sounds of Christmas music coming from Chloe's window. _It would be selfish to ruin her Christmas, right? She doesn't need my problems, not on Christmas, right? _She was just about to leave when a cold wind erupted, racing around her and freezing her to the core. Teeth chattering, body shaking, she raced to take cover on the porch of Chloe's building, and upon seeing her name on the call button list, saw her finger reach out to hit it without even releasing what she was doing.

A few seconds later, over the tinny speaker, she heard, "Hello?"

"Chloe? It's Beca."


	3. Chapter 3

Read and review, please!

Trigger warning: self harm. Not as much as the last chapter.

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"Beca! What are doing out there? Is this a Christmas surprise? Come in!" The door buzzed open, and Beca hurried inside, glad to get out of the cold. She took the stairs, but hesitated before knocking on Chloe's door. Was it too late to back out? Well, now it was, because the door swung open to reveal a sleepy but happy ginger, arms outstretched. Beca took a step backward, not wanting to get Chloe wet too. Chloe's face fell, and then she realized why Beca was being distant.

"You're sopping wet!" she cried, alarmed. "Get in here, now! I'm grabbing you a towel and some dry clothes. Strip off that wet stuff." She pulled Beca by the hand into the apartment and shut the door, before disappearing into another room in search of dry clothes. She exited a few moments later, to find that all Beca had done was taken off her boots, jacket, and scarf, and stood holding them as if she didn't know what to do with them. "Here, I'll take those and put them over the radiator in the bathroom," she said, impatiently, reaching for the wet stuff.

"Why don't I, and then I can change in there and drip all over the tile instead? You can bring the dry stuff, and that way you and that change of clothes will both stay dry."

"Alright," Chloe said, agreeing to Beca's logic. Beca tried her best to keep from dripping at much as possible on the floor, but she could only do so much, being wetter than a half-drowned kitten and shivering like a leaf.

"I'm sorry, I'll wipe that up," she told Chloe, weakly.

"Don't be silly, just get warm before you die of exposure!" she said, ushering Beca into the bathroom and depositing towel and clothing on the counter of the sink. "Really, how'd you get so soaked? Didn't you realize it was raining before you left? Why not bring an umbrella if you were going out?" She stood talking at the doorway of the bathroom, as Beca carefully arranged jacket and scarf on the radiator.

"It wasn't exactly planned," Beca said, waiting for Chloe to leave so she could finished changing.

"Okay...wait, why are you still wearing wet clothes? Do you want to freeze to death?"

"Chloe..." Beca said, trying to clue her in.

"What?"

"Why don't you let me change and then we can talk?"

"What's wrong with doing both at the same time?"

"Well...I'm not as confident as you about all this," she said, sweeping her hand over her body and paraphrasing something Chloe had told her over a year before.

"What, you should be! Besides, it's not like I haven't seen it all before," she answered with a wink that told Beca she was remembering the same incident.

"Please, Chloe?"

"Fine. I'll go make you some hot chocolate, to warm you up." Chloe shut the door in a huff. Beca baffled her sometimes.

In turn, Beca sighed with relief, and quickly stripped, using the towel Chloe gave her to dry her skin before wrapping it around her head. She pulled on the flannel pajamas, far too big for her, but she made them fit by rolling up the waistband. At least it was pants and long sleeves. She put tired feet into fluffy socks, and borrowed the hairdryer that was in there to try to get some of the moisture out of her hair. She exited the bathroom after cleaning up, looking like a mess, but at least she was dry and on her way to getting warm. Chloe met her in the living room, where she pressed a cup into Beca's hands and wrapped a fluffy blanket around her shoulders.

"I should clean up the mess I made," Beca protested.

"I already did, now sit down and be warm," Chloe insisted. "I must say, I love the Christmas surprise, but I thought you were at some party with your dad. What happened?"

"It was Sheila's family's party, and it didn't go so well." Chloe sighed. Sometimes talking to Beca was like talking to a brick wall.

"What do you mean by that?" she prompted.

"Well, you know how Dad and the step-monster are about my career choices," Beca started, and Chloe nodded encouragingly. "Well, she's a chip off a much larger block."

"So, you decided to come here and spend Christmas with me?"

"It wasn't a plan exactly, I just sorta found myself here. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come. You don't deserve to have to deal with this shit on Christmas." Beca refused to meet Chloe's eyes, so when she felt arms being wrapped around her, it took her a little by surprise.

Chloe hugged her a while before saying, "Beca, I love the thought of spending Christmas with you. Don't ever hesitate coming over, on this day or any other."

They sat like that for a while, before Chloe broke the silence, "I certainly was surprised to hear the bell. I figure you would have texted or something. And you never responded to my last text."

"Sorry, my dad was upset I was texting at the party rather than socializing so he took my phone. He still has it."

"He didn't even give it back to you after you got home? Why not?"

"Umm..."

"Umm what, Beca? What aren't you telling me?"

"I didn't exactly come home with him."

"Okay...why not?"

"I sorta left the party early. I doubt he's even home yet, they were going to Midnight Mass at Sheila's church with her family."

"Then how did you get back? A taxi?"

"Umm...sure..."

"Sure? That's not an answer."

"Well, I sorta kinda forgot my purse, too, so I just walked."

"Walked? From where? In this weather?"

"It wasn't raining when I left. Sheila's aunt lives in Barden."

"Where in Barden?"

"I dunno exactly, but I passed by that park we went skating at."

Chloe's eyes grew wide. "That's quite a distance, Beca. How long did I take?"

"I dunno exactly, I stopped in the park for a while to think."

"Okay, well, when did you leave the party?"

"A little after dinner."

"What time?"

"Umm, maybe a little after eight or so?"

"Eight? Becs, it's one in the morning? Where have you been the last five hours? The park may be a couple miles but it doesn't take five hours to walk from there unless you're a turtle."

"Are you calling me a turtle, Beale? I put in my cardio hours..." Beca asked, trying to change the subject.

Her subterfuge did not go unnoticed. "Don't try to change the subject, Beca."

"I told you. I walked from the house. I stopped at the park."

"What aren't you telling me Beca?" She put a finger under Beca's chin, lifting it so their eyes could meet. "Tell me, Beca," she said softly. "Whatever it is, just tell me. It's okay."

Her reaction took Chloe by surprise. Beca tore away from her, in an almost fearful state, backing off the couch and across the room until she hit a corner of the wall, where she collapsed, wrapping arms around knees and the blanket tight around herself like a protective cocoon. Chloe was immediately alarmed, and slowly went to her, sinking on the ground in front of Beca, who was rocking back and forth. She kept every movement slow and careful, as if Beca was a frightened animal she was trying to coax to her.

"Becs," she said calmly, "won't you tell me what's wrong?" Beca shook her head. "Why not?" A long wait and then a low mumble. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear that, you'll have to be a little louder."

A whisper. "You'll hate me."

Chloe's heart broke at her confession. "I won't hate you."

"You will. Everyone hates me once they know. I just couldn't bear it if you hated me too. Especially you."

The _especially_ caught Chloe's attention, but she needed to deal with the problem at hand, and filed it away for the future. "That's not true, and I'm not everyone. It's me, Beca. Chloe. I could never hate you."

"You will."

Chloe decided to try a different tactic. "Who hates you, Beca?"

A sniff. "My dad. Sheila. Sheila's family."

"And does this stem from something that happened at the Christmas party?"

"Yes. Sorta." Beca lifted her head from her knees, and started looking frantically around her.

"What are you searching for, Becs?" Chloe asked.

"Something."

"What something?"

"Something to relieve the pain."

"Are you injured? Do you need medical care? Medication?" Chloe grew increasingly alarmed. Beca hadn't seemed injured; did she miss something?

"Not that kind of pain."

"What kind of pain, then?"

She was quiet, and it seemed like ages before she answered quietly, dropping her head back to her knees. "The kind that's in your mind."

"What normally makes you feel better? Can _I_ do something?" Beca shook her head. Her muscles were all clenched, and Chloe could see her digging her fingernails into her upper arms. Watching that sight, Chloe, being Chloe, couldn't just sit around and do nothing, so she slid in closer to Beca, moving slowly and carefully as to not alarm the girl. "I'm going to hold you, alright?" She took her silence for consent, and slowly arranged the smaller girl on her lap, wrapping her arms around her from behind in the most non-threatening way possible. "Shh, Beca," she said, as if comforting a small child. "It's okay. I have you." And Beca began weeping. So Chloe just continued to sit there, holding the girl in her arms and rocking them slowly back and forth.

Finally, a small, sniffling voice broke the silence. "You promise you won't hate me?" She sounded so childlike, so lost, that Chloe's heart broke again for her that night. What could have happened? She feared something terrible.

"I promise," she said, squeezing Beca's shoulders a little tightly in another hug without breaking the embrace. Beca wiggled around in her grasp slightly, loosening it, and freed up one arm from the blanket and Chloe. Chloe's pajama top was so long on her, the sleeves reached her fingertips, and she started pulling them back ever so slowly. The bruise on her wrist appeared first, and Chloe gasped a little and touched it gently.

"Beca, that looks like a hand. Who did that to you?" But Beca merely shook her head and kept inching her sleeve up. She feared if she stopped, she'd never start again, and Chloe would never leave her alone about it. She stopped about an inch after the scarring started. These at the end were somewhat older scars, not the really old ones but ones whose scabs had fallen off a while ago and looked like slightly darker lines on her skin. Chloe's eyes had followed the slow journey of her sleeve, and when she saw the lines, she knew immediately what they were. And her heart broke in her chest for the third time that night.

She touched the area gently. "This is how you relieve the pain?" she asked. Beca nodded. "And your father found out at the party?" She nodded again. "Will you tell me about it? I want to understand; I want to help."

"Do you hate me?"

"Beca, sweetie, this doesn't make me hate you. I told you, I could never hate you. All I want, all I ever wanted, was for you to let me in." Well, that and the issue of her small crush on her short friend...but now was not the time for that.

Beca sniffed, and began to tell the story of the night after dinner. "I was washing dishes with Sheila's cousin. She said I was doing it all wrong, that her nine year old could wash dishes better than me, and that I was getting my sleeves sopping wet. She pulled them up herself before I could stop her, and she saw. She screeched and dragged me into the living room where my dad and Sheila and everybody was, telling them – Oh, Chloe, it was terrible – and then the things my dad said..." she trailed off. "I just couldn't stay there any more." She clung to Chloe even tighter, and Chloe hugged her back, silently seething at how they had handled it. That was just not done in her book, in really any reasonable person's book. No wonder Beca was so traumatized by the incident.

"That was horrible of them to treat you that way," she said, finally. "Beca, you deserve love and support, not censure and public humiliation."

"I don't."

"Don't what?"

"Deserve love and support."

"Did they tell you that?"

"In so many words."

"They're wrong, Beca. So wrong. I can't begin to tell you how wrong they are and you mustn't believe that for a moment. Everyone deserves love and support, and maybe if you had gotten some, this wouldn't be happening."

"My mom says she loves me."

"I'm glad of that." A pause. "Does she know?"

Beca started. "No! And she mustn't!"

"Calm down, sweetie. She won't hear it from me, if that's what you want. But some of these look pretty old," she said, gesturing at where Beca's sleeves had ridden up further. "And some look very new," she added, seeing a bright red, recently scabbed one. Beca pulled her sleeve down self-consciously. "You don't have to hide from me," Chloe said, hugging her again. "Is this why you wouldn't change in front of me?"

"Yes," she admitted, shamefaced.

"You never have to feel like you have to hide from me, okay?" Beca didn't say anything. "Can I see? I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but I do want to make sure you're alright and don't need medical attention."

"I don't."

"I'd rather see for myself, if that's alright." Finally, Beca extracted herself from blankets and Chloe, and undid the buttons of the pajama top. She pulled it off, revealing the tank top Chloe had given her and her arms.

Chloe ran gentle fingers over the scars, taking great care over the new ones (she counted seven). "These look okay, I guess, not too bad."

Beca shrugged the top back on. "I'm careful," she said. "Always have been. Kept the school counselor off my back because of that."

"You spoke with a counselor about this?" Chloe asked, secretly relieved that she had gotten some help.

"I was going through a rough spot, at school and at home. We met a few times, I kept her from telling my mother by promising to be careful and work on getting better. I did stop for a while." She said it almost bluntly, and Chloe could sense that she felt more comfortable talking about it in the past than the present. She also wanted to know what was going on at school and home and why Beca was so adamant about her mother never finding out, but decided perhaps that it was a conversation for a different time.

"How could I not have noticed during our shower duet?"

"There weren't any new ones, and I'm pretty pale. The old ones are white, so they blend in with my skin. Hard to see under good light."

"When did you relapse?"

This was not a question Beca was comfortable answering, not even a little bit. "A little while ago."

"Beca." Chloe said, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice. Another wall. "It's alright. Let me in."

"It comes and goes in waves," she said, finally. "Sometimes I do it, sometimes I don't. I started a little last year, not that much over the summer and the beginning of the fall, and then I started again. It's nothing really, nothing important."

"Yes, it is important, Beca, because you're important. When last year?"

"Why do you need to know?"

"Because I want to understand so I can help you."

"Why do you care?"

"Because I do care, Beca. I care about you a lot."

"I don't understand."

"You're a wonderful person, Beca, an amazing, wonderful person just the way you are. That's why."

"That was the pool song."

"Yep."

"You sang that well that day."

"I sang it to you."

"To me?"

"Look at all you did. You allowed Aubrey to let go and take some of the pressure off. You prepared that amazing mix. You led us to victory at the ICCAs. But what I remember most, is you walking into that rehearsal room and turning the chaotic mess we made into a cohesive group. And that was simply the most amazing thing I ever saw."

Beca blushed. "You're going to hate me more than ever now if I tell you when it started again."

"No, I won't."

"It was, after Regionals. After I messed up."

Chloe's face fell. If only she had stood up for Beca then. If only she had known. "I'm sorry, Beca, really. I should have done something for you then."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not."

"I stopped again, after the pool."

"That's good."

"I liked being part of the Bellas more than I ever thought I could, so the loss hit me harder than I thought it might, if that makes sense."

"It does."

"And then..."

"Between my dad giving me grief about my career choices, having to leave my mom, Jesse, and then just other stuff...it just all become too much to handle, so..."

"Jesse, hunh? Never much liked that kid. What happened between you two? You never told me."

"I told you we grew apart."

"That's not an answer, Beca, and you know it."

"I thought there was something there. He certainly was crushing on me, so I thought I'd give it a go. I soon realized I was wrong, but then I didn't know what to do. I thought maybe my expectations were just too high, from all those romcoms he forced me to watch, and that's why it wasn't all fireworks and butterflies, but still, I felt nothing. So I eventually broke up with him, and he had some choice things to say." She shrugged, trying to pass it off like it didn't matter, but Chloe wasn't fooled.

"What choice things did he say?"

"Oh, he was just hurt and angry. It didn't mean anything."

"What did he say, Beca?"

"You know, that I'm a frigid bitch, incapable of letting anyone in or being loved. That kind of thing."

"And do you believe him?"

"Umm...I mean, there's some truth to that certainly. I did kinda string him along, pretending to feel something I didn't."

"Yes, but a mature person would realize that sometimes our hearts don't lead us in the direction we or they want and accept that."

"Yeah, well, we're in college. But you're right, of course."

"Of course I'm right. I know a thing or two about the heart. And I want you to know that you're not a frigid bitch, you're not incapable of being loved, and you can let people in. What do you think you're doing right now?"

"True, I guess."

"Why do you think you didn't care for him like you thought you ought to?"

"Well, umm, you see, uhh..."

"Was there someone else?" Beca widened her eyes. How had Chloe guessed that? "There was someone else!" She crowed. "Tell me who!" To give Chloe credit, she was trying to lighten the mood. She didn't expect Beca's face to fall so quickly.

"What is it, Beca? It was someone else, wasn't it?"

"Not someone I was supposed to want."

"Oh?"

"Not interested in me in the least."

"I doubt that. Who could resist you?"

"Completely out of my league, besides."

"Now, that's impossible."

"Not someone I could have."

"Who, Beca?"

And then, so quietly Chloe could scarce hear her, Beca said one word. "You."


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Well, I told you it would get lighter and here it is! This is actually my favorite chapter, I think, at least so far. It's also the second to last chapter, but I may write a New Year's epilogue. Let me know in a review if you want one!

* * *

Whatever Beca had been expecting after her confession, it was not this. It was not a happy squeal. It was not a hug so tight it literally took her breath away. It was not a peck on the lips.

"Umm, Chloe?" Beca finally said. "You're holding me awfully tight." Chloe released her hold, only to grab Beca again in a slightly looser embrace. "I wasn't expecting that," she muttered.

Chloe pulled away enough so that she could see Beca's face, and smiled at the confused brunette in front of her. "What were you expecting?"

"Err, I think rejection topped the list. Probably getting tossed out into the cold."

"Silly, silly Beca-boo," she said, shaking her head slightly though there was a smile on her face.

"Beca-boo?" Beca said, cringing. Adorable nicknames really weren't her thing, and that probably topped the list at the cheesiest.

"Maybe I need to ease you into the cute nicknames thing..." Chloe said with a giggle.

"I don't understand. After everything, everything I just told you, how can you be so...happy? Why aren't you running in fear for your life?"

"Silly, silly Beca," Chloe said, again. "Don't you know? I've been wanting this moment for a year."

"What?"

"I had a crush on you, you silly girl."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"Well...why didn't you do anything about it?"

"Why didn't you, sooner?"

"I was sure you were straight. I mean, c'mon, you were with Tom in the showers that day and at initiation night and countless other times, until you dumped his ass and went out with what's-his-name."

"Damon. But that doesn't matter. I was sure you were straight. I mean, you kissed Jesse after the ICCAs. You have no idea how jealous that made me."

"Well, I guess in all fairness, I kinda thought I was straight too."

"I prefer not to label myself."

"I would expect no less," Beca said, with a slight smile.

"Honestly, best Christmas present EVER!" Chloe said happily, surging in for another kiss. This was not a peck on the lips. It started as a peck on the lips, and became an open mouthed kiss, and when Chloe brushed her tongue against the younger girl's lower lip...well, let's just say it might have lasted several seconds, or several sunlit days, before they finally broke the kiss for air.

"That was..." Beca said, gasping slightly.

"Hot." Chloe finished her sentence with a grin.

"Yeah." They spent several more minutes kissing, until a chime broke them apart.

"Shit, it's three in the morning," Chloe said. "Christmas morning." She got up, tugging Beca up with her. "C'mon."

"Uh, where?"

"To bed, silly. To sleep. We need to get some sleep tonight."

"Or else how could Santa come unless the children are asleep?" Beca asked, with a smirk.

"Santa already came," Chloe responded, with such a loving look that Beca blushed bright red. "Aww, you're cute when you're embarrassed."

"I am not cute!" Beca protested.

"Whatever you say, babe," Chloe said, leading them into the bathroom. "Here, I think I have an extra toothbrush down here..." she said, rummaging through the cupboard, "Ahh, yes!"

"Are you trying to tell me politely my breath stinks?"

"Well, not now. Now you smell and taste of hot chocolate and marshmallows, but morning breath on the other hand, not so nice for kissing..." Without another word, Beca took the proffered toothbrush and proceeded to brush her teeth alongside Chloe. She could get used to this, she thought, these little domestic things like brushing their teeth together.

Chloe then took her by the hand again, leading her into the bedroom. "Now for sleep and cuddles," she said, pushing Beca onto the bed and climbing in afterward, pulling the blankets over them both. Though Beca tried carefully to stick to one side of the bed, Chloe had other plans, and drew the smaller girl into her, turning herself in the big spoon and Beca into the little spoon. And it was like this they fell asleep.

* * *

The bed was moving. This Beca recognized. She also recognized that beds shouldn't move and the voice that said, "Up, Beca, get up!"

"Chloe?" she asked, groggily, her sleepy mind not remembering yet the events of the night before or even where she was for that matter. "What...?"

It all came rushing back with the touch of Chloe's lips on her's, and her eyes shot wide open. "I'm up, I'm up."

"It's CHRISTMAS!"

"Yay?"

"I love Christmas!"

"I know."

"I love it even more now that you're here."

"Oh. Well, me too."

"Up! Time for pancakes! Christmas pancakes! And then to grandmother's house we go!" She cried, singing the last sentence.

"Err, right. Coffee, too, I hope? And, can I brush my teeth first?"

"Hurry up, silly. Pancakes in the kitchen." She pulled Beca out of bed, and then raced out the bedroom door, before doubling back. "Coffee, too." And boy, did Beca need a cup. She glanced at Chloe's clock. It was a little after nine in the morning. Well, six hours of sleep wasn't horrible, not for a college student. Though she felt like she had run a marathon. Okay, on second thought, maybe not a marathon, but there was a lot of sprinting and walking yesterday. No wonder she hurt.

She dragged herself into the bathroom to take care of business and morning breath, before dragging herself into the kitchen. Chloe was happily humming at the stove, back to Beca, so Beca took the opportunity to creep up behind her and place a gentle kiss on the back of her neck. Chloe squealed, spun around, and kissed her full on the lips.

"Hmm, no more morning breath.." she said, kissing her again. "Wait, my pancakes!" She turned with great haste back to the stove. "Sit down, have your coffee, pancakes will be ready in moments," she instructed Beca. Beca was happy to obey, sipping at the mug Chloe pointed to. She was so engrossed in the perfect cup of coffee, that she almost missed Chloe's triumphant entrance was a stack of – green? - pancakes. And not only were they green, they were different sizes, stacked and ordered by size so that the smaller ones were at the top and the larger ones were at the bottom. And they were topped with a slice of pineapple shaped like a star. It was, you guessed it, –

"A pancake Christmas tree?" Beca asked, incredulously.

"Yep! A Beale family tradition!" Chloe said happily. She set the platter down on the table, and starting carving into them, handing Beca half. "There's butter and syrup, do you want anything else?"

"Nope, syrup's good," Beca said, eying the green pancakes skeptically. Chloe was digging in happily before she realized Beca wasn't. Beca was poking at a green pancake with her fork, like it was an alien or something.

"It's just food coloring, Becs," Chloe said, laughing.

"Oh." Now Beca dug in, too. "This is good!" she exclaimed, surprised.

"Of course it is!"

Beca finished her pancakes, and then insisted on doing the cleanup since Chloe had cooked. The ginger sat on a counter, sipping her coffee while Beca worked. "You know, this is the first time I've ever had Christmas tree pancakes..." she said, conversationally.

Chloe giggled. "I kinda guessed that. I don't remember not having them on Christmas. It's sort of a Beale family tradition. Though this is the first time I've made them all by myself..."

"You did a great job."

"Thanks! So, what was your traditional Christmas breakfast growing up? Because we can totally make that too, if you want."

"There wasn't one, so no worries."

"Okay...other traditions? This is, after all, our first Christmas together," she said, winking, "and I wanna make it right for you."

"It is right. It's perfect."

"C'mon, I shared a Christmas tradition with you. Now, it's your turn. That's how these things work."

"It's just...there wasn't really any Christmas traditions. After my dad left, it was just me and my mom and we'd celebrate it together. A little decoration beforehand, a few gifts the morning of, some Christmas music playing, mostly it was like any other day. And last Christmas we really didn't do anything because she had a horrible stomach flu."

"Aw, Becs, I'm sorry. That must've been rough."

"Surprisingly, it wasn't really. As I said, Christmas was never a huge deal."

"Surely you spent it with other people though. Family...even friends..."

"We didn't have any family close by, and my mother, well, she has some, uhh, social anxiety, so she doesn't really do the party thing. We had each other, though, so it was fine. I kinda feel guilty though, leaving her alone this year, but my father insisted I spend Christmas with him."

"And look how well that worked out. Well, a Beale family Christmas is going to come as a real surprise to you. I hope you like it."

"Um, sorry, what?"

"When we go to my family's in a few hours? I said I'd be there around 11 or so, which means we should probably start getting ready."

"We?"

"Did you have other plans I'm unaware of?"

"No, just, I wouldn't want to impose. Christmas is a time for families." Beca looked down and started intently studying her feet in order to avoid Chloe's eyes.

"Beca, my family will love you. They'll be happy to have you there. It's not the first time someone's brought a friend or significant other to the celebration."

"I just, umm, it's probably better if you just go alone, as you planned."

"Why? Don't you want to meet my family?"

"Well, umm, me and meeting families...it doesn't usually work out so well and I don't want to spoil your Christmas."

"Don't be silly. They'll love you and you'll love them."

"Sometimes I wish for your optimism."

"Trust me, Beca. It'll all be okay."

"Chloe, just yesterday I met someone's family, and it was not okay."

"Yeah, well, that's different."

"How so?"

"Did you ever much like Sheila?"

"Well, no..."

"And didn't you say she was a chip off the old block?"

"Yeah..."

"Do you like me?"

"Of course I do!"

"So, I'm a chip off the old block, too. My family is much like me, or I'm much like them, but whatever way that goes, that seems to be a much better recipe for success, right?"

"I guess..."

"And if you really are uncomfortable, we'll leave."

"I couldn't ask you to leave your family on Christmas. That's just not fair."

"I've spent many Christmases with my family. This one, I want to spend with you. Besides, I'm very confident that once you're there, you won't want to leave. I mean, it's not going to be like anything you're used to, but I really think you're going to enjoy it. Won't you at least try, for me?" She turned her best puppy-dog eyes on Beca, who had no defenses against those.

Beca caved. "Fine. For you. I'll try."

"YAY!" Chloe yelled, grabbing Beca and whirling her around in the small kitchen before moving to plant a kiss on her lips. "Now, c'mon, we have to get ready."

At the bathroom, she turned to look at Beca, a predatory glint in her eyes. "I'm going to hop in the shower...care to join me?"

Beca flushed red. "Maybe some other time," she managed to stammer out. Chloe shrugged, and started stripping while Beca was still standing there. The sight of Chloe's perfect body mesmerized her, until she realized she was probably being creepy and beat a hasty retreat. Not knowing what to do with herself, she went back to the kitchen and poured another cup of coffee, sipping it as she made sure the counters were spotless. When she turned around, Chloe was standing there, dressed only in a towel.

"Umm..."

"Shower's all your's," the ginger said, before turning around and walking into her bedroom.

Beca immediately claimed the empty bathroom, shutting the door tightly behind her. The idea of a hot shower was especially appealing, both to her sore muscles and for dealing with the rat's nest that was her hair. Her clothes were still strewn across the radiator from last night, and they felt reasonable dry. Good thing, too, because Chloe's clothes, as evidenced by the set of pajamas she was wearing now, didn't really fit her. She noticed splashes of dried mud on the hems of her trousers, and tried to wipe them off, before placing them back on radiator to dry again while she showered. Yesterday's clothes, which she hiked across Barden in, were not what she would have chosen to meet Chloe's family in, but it didn't seem like she had very many other options, she thought as she stood under the deliciously hot water. She took a quicker shower than she would have liked, but Chloe had said that they were supposed to arrive around 11, and it was already 10. She used Chloe's shampoo to tame her hair, and now her hair smelt like passion flower and vanilla, just like Chloe's. At least her body was clean and her hair decent, even if her clothes weren't and she felt almost bare without her makeup.

Unlocking the bathroom door, she exited, pajamas and towel in hand. "Chloe?" she called.

"Bedroom" was the answer.

She followed the voice and instructions to find Chloe in her bedroom, dressed and applying her makeup. "What do you want me to do with these pajamas I borrowed?"

"Well, if you're done with them, you can toss them in the hamper. Or..."

"Or?"

Chloe turned around, to face Beca. "Beca, what are your plans for the rest of break?"

"Umm..."

"Let me guess. You're not the biggest fan of finishing it up at your dad's."

"Well, no, but..."

"But what?"

"I don't have a lot of other options, alright?"

"Actually you do. I was really hoping you might stay here, with me."

"That's kind of you, Chloe, but I wouldn't want to be a bother. I can take care of myself. You don't need to take care of me. Or...pity me."

"It's not pity, Becs. Honestly, I'm bored as hell sitting here alone all the time; you'd really be doing me a favor, keeping me company."

"Sure..."

"I'm telling the truth. It's not an issue of me thinking you can't take care of yourself; it's me wanting to spend time with you. You're my girlfriend now, right? That's what girlfriends do."

"Girlfriend?" It came out as a squeak.

"Right, we haven't really had that conversation yet. Let's do it now. Beca Mitchell, will you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?" she asked, standing up from her chair to grasp Beca's hands in her's, knocking pjs and towel to the floor as she did it.

"I...uh...yes."

"I don't want you to feel pressured or anything, or like we're going to fast..." Chloe said, concerned about the hesitation in Beca's voice.

"Yes. I'm sure. Yes. A thousand times yes." Beca said, with more conviction. And to solidify her answer and their status, she leaned it to capture Chloe's lips in a sweet kiss. It was meant to be a light peck, but it went deeper, and hotter, until Chloe finally pulled away.

"As much as I like this, we do have to be somewhere and I have a feeling that once we get started..." she trailed off, winking at Beca, who blushed yet again. Chloe started to get a sense, though they had never talked about it, that given Beca's embarrassment about any and all sexual innuendo, that perhaps she wasn't all that...experienced. She was pretty sure she was Beca's first girlfriend, so maybe that's all it was about...had Beca and Jesse...no, not going there right now.

"Do we need to get going?"

"Yeah, pretty soon. Hey, do you want to borrow some eyeliner or something? You can help yourself to my makeup."

"Yeah, thanks." Chloe had a different style, but she also had a lot, so Beca was able to find something she could use to approximate her normal look. "Now I feel more like me."

"Now you look more like you," Chloe responded. "So let's go!"

They hopped into Chloe's car, but Beca grew confused as to their direction. "What part of Atlanta does your grandmother live in?" she asked Chloe. "We're still in Barden."

"Oh, she lives in another suburb, but we have to make a short stop first."

"Okay." Beca accepted that, figuring they needed to pick up cookies or wine or something.

It was less okay when she found herself on her father's street, and when they pulled up into the driveway. Chloe had picked her up here before, so she knew where Beca's dad lived. "Chloe?"

"I figured you'd want your stuff if you were going to stay with me for the rest of break. Clothes, laptop, mixing stuff, those awesomely huge headphones of your's. If you're worried about facing your dad alone, I can come in with you."

"Actually, it doesn't even look like he's here. Maybe they're at church; I think I remember Sheila saying something about that."

"Church? I thought you said they were at Midnight Mass last night."

"They were, I think at least. That was the plan. Sheila's pretty religious. She hates the commercialization of what should be a religious celebration of Jesus's birth. At least, that's what she told me. Even a Christmas tree is too secular for her."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Well, can you get in without them here? I know your keys are probably in your purse, which hopefully they brought home from the party."

"Yeah, I know where a spare is. Wanna come in, help me pack?"

"Sure thing." They got out of the car, and Beca pulled the spare key from a potted plant. Chloe was shocked at how little Christmas decoration there was inside, just a very ornate nativity scene. Beca led them up to her room, and with two of them working, they were able to pack up what few things she had there pretty easily. After all, most of her stuff was in her dorm, or at her mom's place; really the only stuff she had there, she had brought over from her dorm to last her through the break. Beca didn't admit it to Chloe, but she was actually secretly relieved to see all her things exactly where she left them, especially her mixing stuff. When her dad got angry, things usually went flying and not because they grew wings. Her purse and phone were also sitting on her desk, an unexpectedly pleasant surprise. She was also able to change her clothes.

"Got it all?" Chloe asked finally.

"Yep." Beca said, popping the p. She closed and locked the front door, returning the spare key to its plant.

"Then onward to your first official Beale family Christmas celebration!"

* * *

Author's Note 2: So, uh, any ideas for a fun happy awesome big Beale family Christmas? Such a thing has not really been my experience, so I've had a deuce of a time coming up with good ideas. Help?


End file.
